Comical Revenge
by APrettyWar
Summary: House takes revenge on Wilson after being volunteered for certain services undesirable.


House's new coat had been specifically purchased for its pockets. Its abundance in them was plainly ridiculous, the sleek jacket having hidden compartments every which spot you could possibly think to put some; and, for that matter, some where you probably wouldn't. But, each stitched addition of cloth held its own purpose, and that was, to as hysterically as possible, completely and utterly destroy Wilson.

There was a charity event afoot. And, a stink bomb in one pocket, a farting tablet in another, an "onion breath candy" in this one, and an "ink mouth" one in that one, didn't even begin to describe what kind of goodies House had stored in his… Well, frankly put, his miniature prank shop that was located conveniently on his person.

This particular charity event wasn't being conducted as per usual. It was more like a picnic/carnival-esque... Thingummy, which was House's technical term for it. It held games, children's face painting, food booths (which House would no doubt completely clear out of funnel cakes before the night was over), a silent auction, pie eating contest, and at the end of the night after the kiddies were tucked snug in their beds, a date auction amongst the hospital staff. Wilson had signed House up for this, and in turn, House had meant to also volunteer Wilson as payback. But the man, doing all he could to care about dying children, had volunteered himself. This left House in a bind; he now needed revenge in other, much nastier ways. This could be done; Gregory House had friends in low places. As low as scrubbing bathroom tiles and mopping up puke seven to six hundred times a day, and, by golly, backwards-pants janitor wasn't going to fail him now.

"You understand what you're supposed to do?" His voice full of diluted excitement for the night ahead, House went over his plan with BPJ, Backwards-pants janitor, one last time.

BPJ nodded a solemn nod, pocketing the cash, "Eleven o'clock." He didn't need verification, but spoke it out anyhow.

"Good, and I'll see about getting your shift changed, I don't like nurse Darlene either. She smells. Just don't squirt her with any of your cleaning chemicals when she's not looking; I don't want her as a patient."

The two held gaze for a moment, and swiftly parted ways.

- - - -

The plop of the tiny hollow ball into a blue watered fish bowl could barely be heard above the racket of the night's events. There was a large crowd; larger than had been originally estimated, and House quickly popped his third vicodin of the night as the man handed him a tiny slip of paper indicating that he'd won a fish. He, currently, and this number was meant to drastically rise before he was needed elsewhere, had 35 fish slips in one of his many pockets.

House wasn't sure what he was planning on doing with these fish, but as soon as he'd collected a number worthy enough to call it quits, a sudden thought had struck him. Wilson would be so very pleased at his surprise, and nobody could convince him otherwise.

Informing the fish man he'd be back to collect his winnings later, the man gave him a questionable look. House's aim was good, but he'd dished out a lot of money to get a hold of these goldfish, and the Carni had, quite wrongly, assumed he wouldn't be back to claim them. What? A 48-year-old well-paid doctor couldn't play children's games?

"Don't give my fish away or I'm admitting you for excruciating tests." He plainly stated, glancing down at a little girl who'd just received a bucket of balls whilst lingering at her mother's heels before turning to leave. Wilson was about to enter the pie-eating contest, which coincidentally was being held at the same time as the silent auction. Wilson would be none the wiser that House had given to charity his Hitchcock collection for betting, seeing as he'd be stuffing his face with blueberry paste and Wal-Mart quality crust. He almost couldn't do it to Hitchcock, but, in the end, revenge prevailed.

House didn't want to miss the contest starting in, and he checked his watch, two and a half minutes, for Wilson's pies had his farting tablets. They hadn't been baked with love, rather donated from the kitchen/booger staff, but House had inserted the tiny pills with all the TLC a friend could muster.

He took a seat in the third row. The chow down had started; Wilson's face already had smears of blue and bits of crust plastered upon it. He was quickly falling behind, hands stained and lips showing signs of nausea. No. Wilson couldn't puke, or it would defeat the purpose of House having slipped him the pills in the first place. House could quickly see this becoming a reenactment of the pie scene from Stand By Me. Which wasn't pretty. Nobody here, hopefully, had projectile, hose-like vomit… Oh, look, Dr. Jintel had already tossed his cookies… The staff needed to get better at eating, House probably very easily could have won this. But, besides getting free crummy pies, there was no prize (the precedes went to charity), and that made the endeavor worthless to House.

Wilson's hands plunged into another pie, the insides being pushed into his mouth, blue goo appearing at the corners of his lips as he attempted to swallow. He wasn't going to make it. The man sitting next to Jintel had already excused himself for fear of barfing, and, on impulsion, House stood and sent a concerned look his friends way. Wilson's glazed eyes had, by miraculous chance, seen his action, and promptly his hands dropped in defeat to the table before him. There was only three minutes left, and Wilson seemed not to even have the energy to discard of the plastic McDonalds bib that House had stolen in abundance for each of the contestants. His look designed to help, was really meant for Wilson's destruction.

Two minutes left. Wilson looked bad, but kept his composure, a hand now going to smear a bit of blue on the shirt, not a dressy one for once, that he's been wearing. It seemed to be bothering him, and Wilson rubbed it lightly to try to soothe the discomfort.

One minute left. There were only two doctors left eating. Nurse Darlene was winning. Oh, if only he'd of made bets on the outcome… Chase probably had a pool going, and he would have won.

And, time! Deborah is crowned the champion of blueberry face stuffing, Jintel had been escorted to the porta potty. Wilson looked… Constipated?

The man announcing the winner had just completed his three second long speech, Deborah had stood in victory, and Wilson let one rip.

House grinned.


End file.
